


Apple Pies and Kisses

by StrictlyFromCorn (orphan_account)



Series: Fred Astaire x Ginger Rogers [5]
Category: Actor RPF, American Actor RPF, Astaire/Rogers RPF, Fred Astaire/Ginger Rogers Movies
Genre: F/M, Fred Astaire - Freeform, Ginger Rogers - Freeform, classic Hollywood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-26
Updated: 2013-11-26
Packaged: 2018-01-02 18:08:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1059910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/StrictlyFromCorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early 1935. Fred and Ginger stay late on set, practicing their "Hard to Handle" dance, when Ginger demands that Fred take her out to supper after rehearsals. He obliges - fluffiness, tenderness, kisses, and giggles ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Apple Pies and Kisses

"Okay, okay, I admit it. I’m hungry, too." The famous tap-dancer finally conceded as he sat down in the black foldable chair with his name on it. Fred Astaire. He looked at his dancing partner almost sheepishly. She had been complaining for the past hour that she was hungry, and he had insisted upon rehearsing the “Too Hot to Handle” number for their upcoming film.

  
“I told you. You may be real skinny, Freddie, but everyone’s gotta eat sometime.” That was Ginger Rogers, the girl with whom he had formed a solid partnership with over their past two films. Fred was reluctant, but he had to admit, she was a great partner, and boy, she sure did work hard at things. Besides, the two of them got along just grand, and they had even dated each other a few years ago.

  
“Yeah, well, what restaurant is open at-” He broke off, checking his watch. “At a quarter till midnight?” Everyone else on set had gone home for the night, and quite sensibly, too. “Maybe we should just go to our houses and dig something out from the icebox.” Fred shrugged, finally deciding that he was satisfied with the way they had practiced it. They were going to do it all in one take; at least, that was what he wanted.

  
“That won’t do, Mr. Astaire.” Ginger responded with mock arrogance. “You insisted upon my staying with you, so you’re gonna eat supper with me.” She folded her arms, showing that she wasn’t willing to budge on the matter. “I know a little diner nearby that still may be open. Just some nice homemade food, no reporters, even though I doubt they’ll be out at this hour.” She added as an afterthought.

  
“Oh, you never know, Ginge. These photographers and journalists are up at all hours of the day and night.” Fred got up from his seat, as he unrolled the sleeves of his white shirt. “Well… long as they have soup there.” He really didn’t enjoy eating, to be honest. Someone once said Fred Astaire ate only to keep alive, and nothing else. The dancer had to concur with that statement. His favorite kind of food was homemade chicken soup. Maybe that’s why he was so skinny.

  
“Is that all you ever eat?” Ginger responded playfully, putting on her jacket, which was on her chair. “It seems like that. Even back in New York.” She grinned. “Of course they do. What kind of homemade food is that without soup? But I’ll let you in on a secret. Their apple pie is to die for. And so is their cheesecake.” She had to admit that she had something of a sweet tooth (she and Hermes Pan, their choreographer, _always_ went out and got ice-cream in the afternoons while Fred was rehearsing his performances), and even though they weren’t always flattering to the figure, she indulged herself sometimes.

  
“I love some good apple pie.” Fred admitted as he put on his dark brown tweed jacket, and offered his dancing partner his arm. “Let’s go. You lead the way.” He didn’t know how he let himself get talked into going with Ginger, considering the fact that he was already pretty tired, but he did enjoy her company very much.

 

* * *

 

"Hello, Mr. Johnson. I hope we're not disturbing you." Ginger was glad to see the old man wiping the counter clean with his towel as she entered the little diner. It looked like he was about to close for the night, judging by the darkened lights and the shutters which were pulled down over the windows. Fred stepped into the diner as soon as she finished her statement, as he pushed the frosted-glass door open.

"Yeah, we almost thought you were closed." He agreed. The man behind the counter stood stock still for a moment, completely stunned at his newest customers. He seemed unable to grasp the fact that Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers had just stepped into his establishment.

"Oh, you're not disturbing me... not at all! Please, please come in, have a seat!" Johnson finally recovered from the shock and rushed forward to guide the two dancing stars to a booth near the window. "Oh, Mr. Astaire, Miss Rogers, this is such a surprise!" He burst out.

"You do remember me, don't you, Mr. Johnson?" Ginger asked with a smile as she walked over to one of the chairs and sat down. "I used to come here often when we were making _Gold Diggers of 1933_." It had been two years, but she hoped that Johnson would remember her.

"Yes, yes, of course, Miss Rogers, of course." He beamed at the two dancing stars. "Now, what can I get you?" The man rushed over to grab two menus and handed them to Fred and Ginger. To say the least, he hadn't expected them to come in, but he was glad that they did.

"Oh, Fred over here is going to get the southern chicken stew, because he doesn't eat anything else." She stated as she opened the menu, giving a teasing glance to Fred.

"I do, too!" He retorted childishly. "You know, just to prove your point, I'll... I'll have the-" The tap-dancer paused for a minute to scan the menu. "I'll have the spaghetti." Fred looked at both his partner and Johnson defiantly, although he was trying very hard not to burst out laughing.

"Yes, sir, and what will you have, Miss Rogers?" The waiter clearly appeared amused by the little disagreement between the two dancers.

"You know, I'll have some of that chicken stew myself. Just in case Fred changes his mind. He can be very fickle about these things, you know." With a nod, Ginger handed back both menus to Johnson, who disappeared into the kitchen with an idiotic grin on his face.

"You drag me along to have supper with you and you do _this_ to me?" Fred asked with mock indignance, trying to hold back the fit of laughter that threatened to overcome him. He would get even with her soon enough.

"It's what you get, for making me starve through rehearsals." Ginger shot back with a half-smile.

"Oh, stop exaggerating. I didn't make you _starve_. You're so dramatic sometimes, you know, Ginge." After all, Fred was the one who had encouraged her before she had arrived in Hollywood a few years ago. They had had a brief relationship with each other, actually. "I told ya you'd be a movie queen and I guess I was right." He added, a bit more shyly, after a moment's silence between the two of them.

When Fred got "shy", so to speak, he behaved like a bashful little boy. He bit his lip and lowered his hazel gaze, and spoke rather softly. If it wasn't so dark in the diner, one could have seen that he was even blushing slightly. Only very few things could make him shy, and one of those things was Ginger's company. Especially when he thought of their relationship in New York in 1930.

"Never thought you'd be the dancing king either, huh?" Ginger asked tenderly, picking up on his sudden change of emotion. To be honest, she found it extremely adorable. Outside of all his worrying and fretting about dances and films, he was genuinely a sweet person. He found time to be sensitive to the feelings of others. Which was more than she could say for some other actors she had worked with.

"I always thought Adele was the star of the show. When we fell on hard times while performing in vaudeville, I thought I was a liability to her. And now... she's retired from show business, and here I am, with you." Fred spoke slowly and thoughtfully as he kept his gaze on the black-and-white checkered linoleum floor. "I'm not complaining about being with you, though." He added as he looked up at her.

"Neither am I, Freddie." Ginger agreed with a smile. Subconciously, she found herself wanting to place her hand on top of Fred's, which was resting on the edge of the table. And so, she did. "I know we don't really want to be a team, but it's nice working with you anyway. It's a lot like _Girl Crazy_." She recalled for a brief moment the fun times they spent together in New York. And the five-minute kiss he gave her was to die for. Ginger still could imagine the pressure of his lips against hers.

"Here you go, Mr. Astaire, Miss Rogers." Johnson interrupted their conversation as he brought their food to the table. Judging by the steam that it let off, and the fragrance that surrounded them, it was freshly prepared. With a smile, he nodded to each of them and disappeared back into the kitchen.

"How does he-?" Fred was about to finish his question, but found himself digging into the spaghetti that was set before him. "This is _delicious_!" He mumbled around a mouthful of noodles and tomato sauce. Ginger held back her giggles as she saw her dancing partner try not to get the red sauce all over his white shirt, almost like a five year old kid.

"I don't know how he makes it so fast, but, at the rate you're going, you're gonna eat it faster than it took him to cook it." She responded with a half-smile, eating her stew in a more dignified manner. Fred self-conciously stopped trying to gobble all the spaghetti at once, following Ginger's way of eating. "Oh, this is _good_!" She commented, after a few spoonfuls of soup.

"We've got to come here more often, Ginge. This place is fabulous! Why didn't you bring me here earlier? Now I'm almost glad I 'starved' you, since you dragged me along here." Fred playfully added after a moment's silence between the two of them.

"Don't make a habit of it, Mr. A. Don't keep me hungry in the hopes that I'll take you to every great restaurant in Hollywood." Ginger responded with an impish grin. “Do you want to try some of this? It’s pretty darn good, you know. Especially since you like soup very much. Don’t worry, I won’t judge you this time.” She pushed the bowl of chicken stew towards her dancing partner with a genuine smile on her face.

  
“Oh, all right. Have you had this spaghetti before? It’s delicious.” Fred accepted the offer of soup with a half-smile, pushing his plate of spaghetti towards her. Noticing that Ginger had left the spoon in the bowl, he used the same one, in the hopes of provoking a reaction from her. She noticed, but shook her head and resolved to use Fred’s fork when she ate the spaghetti. “I genuinely think I could eat this for the rest of my life and never get tired of it.” Fred declared after a few spoonfuls of stew.

  
“You bet I have. I’ve had everything this little diner has to offer, and I could eat it for the rest of my life, too.” Ginger didn’t find the task of keeping her white shirt clean too difficult. “Now I know why you’re so skinny, Freddie. All you eat is chicken stew.” She added playfully.

  
“Aw, you should’ve seen me in _Dancing Lady_. I looked as thin as a dancing butter knife!” Fred burst out, laughing at the memory. His dancing partner laughed as well, although she had to admit, what with all the lifts in the dances he had been choreographing with Pan, he had to be pretty strong as well.

  
Ginger continued eating Fred’s spaghetti, and vice versa, and the two of them engaged in repartee about nothing really in particular. A few moments later, Johnson emerged from the kitchen, towel in hand. “Is there anything else I can get you, Mr. Astaire and Miss Rogers?” He asked in the most polite way possible.

  
“Freddie, you’ve got to try the apple pie. I promise you, you’ll love it. No ifs and buts-“ Ginger cut him off as he was about to protest that he never ate that much. “I’ll have a slice of apple pie and a slice of cheesecake.” She looked up at the waiter, who had noticed, much to his amusement, that the two of them had changed dishes.

  
“Yes, Miss Rogers.” With a nod, he left the two of them alone again.

  
“I’m telling you, Ginge, if I eat this much, I can’t dance tomorrow! We’re gonna film the number all in one take tomorrow, if everything goes well.” Fred complained, as soon as he had the chance to. “I don’t know about you, but I can’t eat that much.” He finished.

  
“Anyone who says they don’t have room for apple pie is lying.” Ginger responded insistently, folding her arms. “I was right the first time around anyway. You did end up eating the chicken stew – most of it.” She pointed out, trying to hold in a laugh.

  
“Oh, but you tricked me!” He burst out. “You invited me to switch dishes, in the first place.” Fred added more quietly, knowing that his case was lost anyway. “All right, all right, I’ll have the apple pie.” He muttered sulkily. That was three in one night. He was slipping.

  
“You’re acting like it’s a bad thing.” She observed with amusement. “Most people would give their right arm to have apple pie as good as the one here.” That was a sure fact; Mr. Johnson’s cooking was the best that she could get for miles around the studio’s vicinity. “Besides-“ Ginger cut off her partner as he was about to protest something. “I don’t know how an apple pie tonight is going to affect the dance tomorrow.” She shot down his argument before he even had the chance to make it.

  
“Yeah, yeah, I see your point." Fred shrugged impassively, seeing as there was nothing he could do to help his situation. Johnson emerged with the apple pie a few moments later,  a grin on his face.

"Here you are, Mr. Astaire, and Miss Rogers." He set the desert down, and in that instant, Fred regretted putting up so much resistance against eating the pie. It already smelled heavenly, so it only made sense that it would taste as good, if not better. And his assumption was proved right when he took a bite out of it.

"Do you like it?" Ginger asked with a smug smile as she watched him start to scarf down the pie at a record pace. She could tell that he loved it, of course, but she just wanted the satisfaction of hearing Fred admit that he was wrong. Again.

"Oh, Gin, I'm telling ya, from now on, you're in charge of taking us to places to eat when we're hungry. This is _heaven_." He talked around a mouthful of apple pie Fred knew that those manners didn't befit a gentleman like him, and in normal circumstances, he would have checked himself, but the pie was too delicious for him to even think about anything besides it. There was no wounded pride in him; just amazement at how good the apple pie was.

"You're not gonna admit that you were wrong and I was right?" Ginger burst out, a little bit surprised that she didn't get the intended reaction from him, but flattered at the way he had given her the duty of picking out where they ate from then on. "And what do you mean by 'us'? Is it just the two of us, or... more people?" She added, her gaze flitting from her own apple pie to her dancing partner, the hint of a smile on her face.

"Well..." Fred stopped eating the pie altogether and met Ginger's gaze. Then, without a word, he rose from his seat opposite her and sat down next to her. "I mean the two of us." His tone had dropped to a near-whisper, and he edged closer to the blonde girl as he spoke. "And yes, I was wrong. I was wrong to challenge the opinion of a swell girl like you." By that point, the two of them were so close together that their noses were almost touching.

Fred couldn't quite explain it, but he found an overwhelming surge of those feelings that he felt for Ginger back in New York. Those feelings hadn't gone anywhere; they had stayed right with him, and working with her again had brought them back. It was hard to describe, but his heart was racing faster than any of the opening nights on his shows with Adele. Faster than the premieres of his movies. Faster than it had ever done before.

From where she was sitting, Ginger had no urge to draw back, or even do anything except stare at him. She could feel his breath against her face - it stirred a few strands of her hair, and he was breathing quickly, that was for sure. She could also smell Fred's cologne, and in that moment, it seemed like the most pleasant smell in the whole world. Then, he suddenly shut his eyes and leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers.

It was almost like that time in New York. In the back of his car. Just the two of them. He started to pull away, but Ginger impulsively wrapped her arms around him, as if begging him not to end the kiss. She could tell that Fred was a bit surprise, but he kept kissing her, not caring who saw them. The two of them stayed like that until he finally broke away, completely out of breath.

"Ginge, you leave me _breathless_." Fred whispered, positively sure that he had tasted all the lipstick he wanted to for the rest of his life. But he didn't mind - because it was Ginger. He was about to say something when she kissed him again, on the jaw. For some strange reason, he thought it was the best feeling in the entire world. For sure, he had never felt anything like that before, but he liked it. He liked it very much.

She kept it up, making a path of kisses to his ear. And then, Ginger took his earlobe between her lips and gently tugged downward. It was something he had done to her in the car that night, and she had to admit, it was something that made her feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

"Oh, you wanna play that game?" Fred asked playfully, a grin on his face. He enjoyed that sensation immensely, and it was plain to see that Ginger had picked up that trick since that night, too. "Gin, I wish I had known this before. I wish I-" He broke off as she suddenly bit his earlobe, recoiling in pain. "Ouch! That hurt!" He protested, wondering why she had done that.

"Eat your apple pie, Freddie." Ginger started giggling like a little girl that had gotten away with something she wasn't allowed to do. From her point of view, she saw Johnson walking down the aisle, and as soon as Fred turned, he saw the reason why she had bitten his earlobe. It hurt, to say the least, but it was quick thinking.

Seeing as they were not finished with their pie, Johnson returned to the kitchen, while the two of them quietly ate their apple pies. As soon as he was out of sight, Ginger started laughing again. Her laughter brought a smile to Fred's face, since he thought it was adorable. He couldn't help but begin to laugh as well, finding her laughter very contagious. They didn't even have to say anything; they just looked at each other and laughed in mutual understanding.

The next day on set, if they weren't kissing, they were laughing. Fred was right - they did shoot the dance that day, and they had done it all in one take. During break, the two dancers were nowhere to be found, but they both turned up on time to continue filming that scene. Some of the crew couldn't help but notice little details - Fred's mussed-up hair, Ginger's lipstick getting all smeared, and their clothes getting all rumpled up. Something was going on, that was for sure.

The only pity was that the two of them couldn't keep up that kissing in front of the cameras.


End file.
